


shades of mean

by fyborg23



Category: Hockey RPF, Women's Hockey RPF
Genre: F/F, Gloves, Overstimulation, Sex Toys, Sexual Tutoring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-10
Updated: 2015-09-10
Packaged: 2018-04-20 00:10:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4766144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fyborg23/pseuds/fyborg23
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The locker room door opens, and Angela raises her eyebrow at Knight. Knight’s still got a baby face, for all that she hovers around six feet, and Angela <i>knows</i> she can push Knight around.</p>
            </blockquote>





	shades of mean

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place in some hazy version of 2009-2010.

Angela rubs at her purpling thigh. She’s going to have a hell of a bruise in the morning. She grimaces. Nothing sexy about bruises– not even if you get them blocking shots from some cute kid. They pool and swell and pull at muscles at the wrong moment.

The locker room door opens, and Angela raises her eyebrow at Knight. Knight’s still got a baby face, for all that she hovers around six feet, and Angela  _knows_ she can push Knight around.

Maybe even wants to, but she probably isn’t going to get much of a chance outside of practices leading up to playing against the fucking Canadians and Chicken. Knight winces at the bruise on Angela’s thigh, and she manages a  _sorry_?

Angela shrugs, “That’s what happens when you’re defense and actually do all the work.”

Knight snorts, “Oh my god, you Ds are all the same, all ‘no one appreciates us’,” finishing with a dramatically thrown arm over her sweaty face. Angela smirks and nudges her with her foot.

“Get in the shower, before your hockey pads walk off by themselves.”

Knight shoots her a sly grin, and Angela manages not to think about wiping the grin off her face. The shower’s tepid, weak, but she doesn’t smell putrid at the end of it, so Angela figures it ranks better than some locker showers. Angela’s drying off, squirming into a pair of sweats when Knight comes up to her.

“Angela–” and that’s enough for Angela to look at Knight. Knight looks like she’s chewing on her words, a flush creeping across her ears. A shameful part of Angela notices how much younger Knight looks, soaking wet and in a towel too short for her legs.

Angela raises her eyebrows, pats her hair dry while trying to look all  _Yes, I care_. Knight looks down, inhales before she looks up again.

“You do  _things_ , right?” Knight asks. Angela bites down on the the growing grin on her face.

“I’m a busy lady, I do a lot of things.”

Knight makes an irritated noise, a little huff through her nose, which clashes with how her ears are turning brick red. She shoves a hand through her too-long hair, “You know, push people around in bed.”

Fucking Chicken, couldn’t keep her mouth shut. Angela leans against the locker panel, “Yes. And?”

Knight raises an eyebrow, smiles a little sheepishly, “Could use some pointers.”

Angela blows out a breath. Knight’s a sweet-looking kid. But maybe Angela shouldn’t think of her as a  _kid_  if she got enough guts to ask for help.

“Pointers,” Angela repeats. “Like, advice or–”

Knight looks Angela full in the face, “Look, I know if I want to be  _good_  I have to know how the other side of the coin looks like. ”

Angela wants to reach out and stroke Knight’s arm, but Knight’s shimmering with tension. She keeps herself to saying, “And you want to do it with me?”

Knight licks her lips, “I trust you.”

Angela nods– that shit’s important– and pulls her shirt on. Knight watches her heave her bag over her shoulder, and Angela grins, “Ok, Knighter. My room, in like, two hours? I need a nap after that practice.”

Knight scrunches up her nose when she smiles and Angela doesn’t bother pretending she’s not affected by that. Knight’s cute.

Angela looks forward to seeing what Knight wants to do.

#

Angela’s drowsing in the last lulls of her nap when she hears a sharp tap on the door. She opens her eyes, and smiles wide, tries not to  _giggle_ , and opens the door to Knight. Knight weirdly looks small, draped in a Team USA tracksuit, like it’s a skin she wants to shed as soon as she can. Angela can sympathize– been there, done that, and–

Is still refusing to do the age-math, thanks.

Angela leans against the doorway, and she can feel Knight’s eyes slide over the  _very_  salient fact that she isn’t wearing a bra. Knight bites her lip– very pretty– says, “Uh, hi?”

Angela snorts, eases off from the doorway, and says, “Hey,” a little more slyly than she  _intended_ , “Just make yourself comfortable. Gotta brush my teeth.”

The doorway’s too small for both of them, and they wind up pressing against each other. Knight doesn’t lean away, even if Angela can almost feel the blush on her face. She’s going to take that as a good sign. She watches Knight sit awkwardly on the messy bed before she ducks into the bathroom.

She looks in the mirror, scrubbing her teeth. Thinking about how to pull off what Knight wants– a lesson?– what buttons to press, it’s a hell of a thing to think about with a mouth full of minty goodness. Angela grins to herself, and rinses her mouth.

Angela comes out, and Knight’s still lying half on the bed, her stockinged feet still on the bland hotel carpet and staring up at the ceiling. Her shirt is creeping up past her ribs, and Angela wants to run a finger underneath the sturdy band of her sports bra. Knight turns her head towards Angela with a soft smile.

Angela wants to destroy her, make her gasp and moan and curse and sob–

Knight looks like she’d  _let_  her, with a fucking smile on her face. Angela kneels on the bed, watching Knight prop herself up on her elbows. Knight arches her eyebrow, smirks, and yeah, Angela isn’t averse to kissing her and stroking the bottom of her lip. Knight slides her hand up Angela’s well-worn shirt, and slides her thumb over a nipple before Angela reaches down and presses a hand against hers.

“No,” Angela smirks, and Knight flushes, caught out between having a handful of tit and looking up at Angela.

Knight moans, “Fuck, do I have to be good?” her nails pressing against Angela’s thin skin, and Angela grins before she shoves Knight back down. It’s so easy to press her down, to use her hips against Knight’s (relatively) slim ones, and so rewarding when Knight arches up against the join of her sweatpants. Angela can feel her own cunt  _clench_  just that much, fuck.

She shoves Knight’s shirt off, palms her small tits and Knight flushes, raises her arms as if to cover them–

“Not your thing?” Angela asks.

Knight licks her lips, looking so needlessly open Angela just has to twist her nipple a little, make her squirm and slap her hand against Angela’s arms. “Um, it’s– very. Very.”

“Very?” Angela asks, and Knight squirms just enough that Angela’s pretty sure she’s getting wet,  _because_  of Angela holding her down.

Knight tosses her head, “Yeah,  _very_ , come on, what do you want, an  _essay_.”

Angela leers, and presses the edge of her blunt nails against one of Knight’s nipples. Knight twitches, and Angela leans closer, enough to kiss her, “I like feedback.”

“You gotta have a little more for me, please?” Knight says, spreading her thick thighs underneath Angela’s leg, rubbing against her so  _filthy_  Angela has to lean down and catch Knight’s mouth with her own. Knight kisses back, scraping her teeth against Angela’s lip.

Angela presses her thigh up, makes Knight moan and grind even harder against her. She rakes her hand through Knight’s hair, pulls at it just this side of  _hard_. Knight still arches up, her eyes bright with tears and Angela presses an open kiss to her throat before she asks, “Think you can stay still?”

Knight raises her eyebrows with a reckless grin, “Make me.”

_Perfect_ , Angela thinks, sliding her hands up Knight’s sturdy arms and pressing those long hands against the sheets. Knight tries to move, but Angela smirks as Knight realizes, that yeah,  _Angela’s_  stronger.

“Fuck,” Knight mutters, and Angela rubs herself against Knight’s front, making Knight flush just a little more. Knight’s almost pretty like this, her hair a mess and looking like she needs nothing more but a really  _good_  feeling-up.

Knight looks up at her, and Angela says, “You going to stay still?”

“You’re mean, you know that,” Knight says, with a breathy laugh. She doesn’t move when Angela leans back and slides off her. Angela knows where she put the lube, and wonders if she should bother–

Knight’s watching her, biting her lip bloody, and Angela asks, “Should I make you come?”

They look at each other, and Knight says, “You’d be mean about it, I know you would.”

Angela stretches towards her duffle to yank it closer– she doesn’t miss the way Knight’s eyes press on her– and shrugs, “Yeah.”

She’s got a vibrator, some rubbers and gloves, and if Knight’s willing to be a  _wreck_  for her–

Knight looks at them in her hands before she looks back up at Angela, a steely look nailed on her face. Angela likes it, wants to see what’s underneath the look more.

The lube’s easy. The vibrator’s even easier, but Angela can’t resist snapping the cuff of the glove when she slides it on. Knight flinches, then glares at her for laughing.

“ _Mean_ ,” Knight mutters.

Angela stretches her gloved hand and grins, “What, you’re going to tell me you’re a blushing virgin?”

Knight just makes a  _V_  with her fingers and sticks her tongue out between them.

Angela raises her eyebrow, “We could do that too,” and Knight licks her lips before she settles back onto the sheets. Angela squirts out some lube on her gloved hand, rubs her fingers together; cold lube isn’t always  _sexy_.

What is sexy is Knight’s long legs taking up most of the bed,  _shameless_ , comfortable, and she scoots closer. She slides her bare hand down Knight’s torso, and Knight moves her knees up just a little, arches towards Angela–

Angela pushes her back down to the sheets, one hand between her tits, slides in two fingers, maybe a little too  _much_ , just rough enough. Knight’s wet, even through the glove, and the squelch of lube always makes Angela flush to hear. Knight squirms, and Angela leans closer, slides in just a little deeper.

Knight’s flushed already.

“Good?” Angela asks, and Knight mutters, “Fuck, just touch my clit already, yeah–”

Pushing her fingers up, curving them just right to rub at Knight’s clit, that’s easy. What isn’t easy is keeping Knight still, holding her on the edge– her heels scrape across the sheets, and Angela flicks at her clit just to see her freeze.

“Damn it,” Knight mutters, her voice pitched lower, heavy with  _something_. Angela rubs her thumb in slow circles, presses her bare hand on Knight’s sweat-slick neck, just to hold her–

Knight’s eyes fly open, shocked, maybe pleased, and Angela grins before she fingerfucks her, hard enough to make Knight grip the sheets and grind against her fingers. Knight’s so turned on, so open, Angela’s fucking ashamed of how much she likes seeing a third finger slip into Knight’s cunt.

Knight hisses a little through her teeth, and says, “No, no, it’s good, yeah–”

Angela kisses her jaw, “You need a little more? You look so pretty like this though–” she leans down to pull at Knight’s tight nipple with her teeth– “having to wait.”

Knight licks her lips, and maybe Angela takes pity on her, maybe Angela wants to see if Knight moans when she comes. She presses the wrapped-up vibrator against Knight’s clit, moves it around until Knight gasps  _to the right– yeah just a little up–_

Angela flicks it full-on, buzzing so hard in her hand it makes her fingers tingle, and presses just right where Knight  _asked_  for it.

Knight jerks in her hands, rocks down between the vibrator and her fingers, making those cut-off gasps, struggling for breath just before she comes. Angela holds her down, trying to make her quiver more around her fingers, and Knight moans, rubbing her legs together. Knight’s thighs are slick with come and lube, and Angela wishes she can put her mouth over those wet spots, glide her mouth up higher–

“Want more?” Angela asks, and Knight shifts a little, props herself up on her elbows. She’s smiling, her usual cheeky grin, and she lifts her chin, “Yeah, I thought you were gonna be  _mean_.”

Angela taps her clit, sharp, hard, with the edge of her hand. Knight gasps, closes her thighs around Angela’s hand just before Angela can yank it out.

“There’s different kinds of mean,” Angela says, pressing her gloved fingers against Knight’s thighs.

Knight bites her lip, and says, “You’re really going to make me come  _again_?”

“What, can’t handle it?” Angela asks, maybe just challenging enough she knows that Knight’ll  _have_  to say  _yes_.

Knight does, with a sharp grin that makes Angela want to  _bleed_  on it. She kisses her instead, hard and wet, and pushes her over on her front. Knight cranes her neck around. Angela pushes her head down, and says, “You’re really stubborn, you know.”

“You’re really pushy,” Knight smirks into the pillows, and wriggles her ass. Angela really wishes they had more  _time_ , could imagine Knight all sweating and begging for her clit to be touched while getting ass-fucked but–

Angela just presses her thigh in between Knight, leans on Knight’s back. Knight’s red, like she’s been red for the last awhile, but it’s always a little different when you’ve got tits pressed against your back, isn’t it?

Fingering Knight is easier this time. Angela’s got better leverage, the  _clear_ advantage, and watching Knight try and fail to lift her hips to rock against her fingers is just  _hot_. Knight’s cunt is even warmer, slicker. Angela rubbing fingers against the hood of her clit is obviously too much direct pressure for Knight–

She’s shivering under Angela, pushing down and pushing up as much as she can, wanting to get off and wanting to ease off–

Knight comes a little easier this time, but she’s noisier, her gasps harsher and tearful. Angela wants so much to hit her, maybe see if she can cry– but that’s probably the advanced course and shit.

Angela strokes down Knight’s back, presses her face against Knight’s shoulder before she rolls on her side and off her. Knight breathes, easy and slow, and it’s a while– five minutes– before she rolls towards Angela. Angela strokes her arm and raises a questioning eyebrow.

Knight licks her lips, chapped from rubbing them against the rough hotel pillow cases, and manages, “Fuck yes, I’m going to be feeling that tomorrow.” She reaches towards Angela, presses her hand on her tit, and Angela smirks.

“Knew you couldn’t resist them,” she manages, trying not to think too hard about how wet  _she_  is. She’s going to be a freaking hair-trigger, turns out she likes pressing cocky hockey wanna-bes against beds.

Knight grins, “Yeah, you’re just so–  _strong_ ,” and leans closer, bites the underside of Angela’s tit, scrapes her teeth halfway down to her navel, “Should run more drills with you, make you show me how to muscle off the puck,” and Angela smirks at imagining pressing Knight up against the glass, getting her jill a little sticky.

Knight slides a little further down, and licks her lips, “Want me to misuse a glove? Since, you know–”

Angela looks down at Knight in between her legs, and strokes her tangled hair, “ _Yes_.”

Knight fumbles with a clean glove, but it’s enough for her to be very enthusiastic about eating Angela out, rubbing her face against her cunt and pressing in just a little through the glove. Knight flicks her eyes up at her, and Angela has to close her eyes, make herself  _listen_  to the slick noises Knight’s making. With her mouth.

Angela presses down, just a little, and can feel that little quivery sensation, that feeling that’s so fucking close to coming–

She snarls something, and Knight muffles a moan sucking on her clit–

Angela’s all tense and then  _whoosh_ – and Knight grips her hips tight, makes her keep close to her mouth, just enough that the glove slips a little. Just a fucking little, and Angela comes.

Knight tries to wring her out, with her mouth still working, and just grins at her when Angela pulls at her hair, “No fair, I wanted to see you shake a little more.”

Angela manages, “I think you’ve got the idea, just enough.”

Knight blinks, and kisses her on impulse, weirdly gentle. Angela can taste the nitrile, the salt underneath, on Knight’s lips, and maybe–

Maybe they do have enough time after all.

**Author's Note:**

> [my tumblr!](http://www.hastybooks.tumblr.com)


End file.
